


Lucky Charm

by comebackjessica



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Bossy Old Ladies, Drama, F/M, Humor, Jewish Character, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-12-30 10:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18314051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica
Summary: In Alfie Solomons' general experience, the problem with Jewish old ladies, right, was that they usually thought they knew better, wouldn't believe his threats, and they came in packs.





	Lucky Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleepyblinders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyblinders/gifts).



_ ©Peaky Blinders Fic Exchange 2019 for sleepyblinders/alfiesolcmons  _

 

**Prompt:** Alfie is set up on a blind date by a few of the Jewish older ladies in town, they think he needs a good woman in his life.

_ Ok here it goes, my first Alfie/OFC, I hope you like the outcome! _

 

Before Alfie Solomons had even heard about the mad bastard who ran the Shelby Company Ltd., the usual force behind the disruption of his day-to-day life had always been Frau Liebkind. The woman in question, very small and equally fierce, was overly attached to her German heritage and so she forbade anyone to call her “madam”. She always felt it didn’t really hold the same connotations, this much Alfie knew. On the other hand, she refused to speak German with him and his Yiddish was too rusty in places to fully understand her fast and vigorous blabber. This is why when she approached him at the market, at five in the bloody morning, he was not prepared for the conversation that followed:

“I found you a wife!” 

Frau Liebkind was never one for pleasantries, she always preferred to get straight to business — the one quality of hers that Alfie could honestly accept.

“Frau Liebkind. Thank you, thank you, but today I only need the tomatoes.” Hiding a smirk behind his beard, he handed his chosen vegetables to the seller and continued inspecting the potatoes, while the woman babbled:

“She is the one, I tell you! She’ll make a Godly wife. Modest, beautiful, kind and quiet…” She counted on her fingers, as Alfie tried not to listen for the sake of the last bit of sanity still remaining in him. 

“Then it seems I ain’t the man for her, hm?” He took his vegetables from the seller and paid hurriedly. 

Rather naively, he had chosen this early hour to do his shopping for two reasons: fresh, untouched produce, and avoiding awkward exchanges such as this. 

“Alfie Solomons, you listen to me!” She followed him with impressive speed, considering the amounts of skirts and the layers of black woolen clothing she always wore. “You are part of the community, whether you like it or not. And we say it’s time.”

“Do you now?” Rather amused, he took out his pipe and lit it only to vex the woman further. “Do tell then, what does the poor lass know about me, eh? What lies have you spun, you wicked witch?”

Frau Liebkind gave him a smirk not much different and no less arrogant than his. 

“You watch your tongue with me, boy.”

“Aye.” He puffed his pipe and stopped for a minute to examine his bags. They seemed awfully light. “Damn you, woman.” He turned towards her and extended his hand. “Give me back my fucking potatoes,” he barked.

Frau Liebkind was now sporting a rather pregnant-looking belly under her many skirts and woolen shirts, one that might have even looked real but couldn’t, considering she was more wrinkled than an old sheet and grayer than an Irish wolfhound.

“Not until you agree to meet her.”

“I ain’t doin’ no such thing, you hear me?” He took a step towards her, doing his best to tower over her. Women such as this one were not easy to intimidate, however, despite their unformidable size. Showing contempt came naturally to Frau Liebkind and with a personality such as this she could look down on a giant with absolute ease and equal conviction.

“Well, as you wish.” She showed disappointment in every aspect of her body. “Seems I’ll be making  _ draniki  _ for dinner, then. Good day to you, Alfie.”

“Always a pleasure,” he barked and turned on his heel, considering the conversation finished.

“Have I mentioned she’s Jewish?” She called after him. “And a beauty?”

“Right. So call me when you finally find somebody ugly, yeah?”

She laughed to herself and waved her hand dismissively. This wasn’t over yet, he should have known, but for now, he chose not to think about it. Not too much, anyway. Every other month or so, someone from his local assembly (usually one of the three women that virtually ran the place, despite what the rabbi might have thought about it) decided Alfie’s life needed improvement, namely: a presentable woman. 

“No such luck,” he barked to himself, feeding Cyril parts of his breakfast under the table. 

The issue with women, right, particularly Jewish women was… well, only everything. But he wouldn’t go for an English girl either, not in this lifetime. Where the Jewish girls were quiet, the English made up for in complaining, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of arguments they would have about religion. Not to mention his...  _ business _ and the general nastiness of his occupation. How in hell was anybody expecting him to become some poor girl’s husband was beyond him.

The issue with Frau Liebkind, Alfie realized, was that her closest friends from the synagogue were equally annoying and equally convinced of the superiority of their ideas. And like all Jewish old ladies, they came in packs.

“Alfie.” One of them surprised him in front of the synagogue after the service. Granted, he wasn’t paying attention since he was looking for his matches. He wasn’t expecting to be jumped in a place like this, either, but it seems that considering his unusual line of work, he should have known better.

“Mrs. Bauer.” He nodded politely, entirely convinced he knew exactly what the woman wanted. As if to prove his point, Frau Liebkind materialized behind her friend and the third of their clique, Alfie couldn’t remember her name, must have been closeby because he heard her before he could spot her:

“Alfie Solomons, we haven’t seen you in ages!”

And so the three Norns, clad from head to toe in black, surrounded him like the plague and he had nowhere to run without making a scene.  _ Fuck. _

“I’m assuming, ladies, that I’m meetin’ this poor lass whether I like it or not, ain’t that so?” He put his pipe away and looked at them, defeated.

“Told you he’s not daft,” Frau Liebkind said to her friends and handed Alfie a piece of paper. “Come by for tea, Alfie. Today at seven.”

“Aye…” He looked at the note as if it was about to jump at him and bite his nose off. “You don’t negotiate, do you?”

“Not since Bismarck tried to get his way with us, dear.”

So there he was, feeling like an utter git while standing in front of Mrs. Bauer’s house at seven o’clock sharp and not even having it in him to knock. The situation, absurd in its entirety, couldn’t have gone worse even if he had made an effort. Not that he really had to. Being who he was and as he was, he didn’t have to try very hard to fuck things up right from the start. 

“There you are!” With an otherworldly intuition, Frau Liebkind opened the front door before he could even raise his hand to knock. 

“Hm.” He growled deeply and begrudgingly crossed the threshold. 

His hat and coat were taken away swiftly, and he felt even more powerless than before. 

“We’re having roasted potatoes.” Mrs. Bauer informed him, coming from the kitchen with an oven-pan full of, Alfie was sure of it, his very own bloody potatoes. 

“Hm.” Another grunt was all they got but none of the older ladies seemed to care. 

Alfie was led to the spacious living room, where to his relief he was greeted by a small crowd of people. Some of them he knew already, some of them must have been the “eligible ladies” he was sure the three witches got out of their way to invite especially for him to meet. Why they cared so much about his marital status remained a mystery. 

“Sit everyone, sit!” The conversation was switched to English, and Alfie couldn’t help but wonder why.

Have they managed to find some poor English girl desperate enough to marry a Jew? Surely, a Jewish girl that didn’t know any Yiddish wasn’t an option, so why? He was sat between two young women, both equally beautiful, but he landed too deep in his own head to even respond when they gave him their names. Did those crazy witches honestly think an Englishwoman was the way to go here? In their infinite wisdom, right, did they really think  _ that  _ was his problem?

Someone kicked him under the table and he finally acknowledged both his neighbors. 

“Right, how rude of me. Fuckin’ hell.” Not bothering with the proper etiquette, since why would he at this point, he shook both the girl’s hands. “Alfie Solomons, good to meet ya.”

This time, he was sure, was the last one the three women would try their matchmaking. The ladies on both his sides looked utterly baffled and, quite frankly, they seemed to be embarrassed for him. Good, he decided, putting copious amounts of potatoes on his plate. Neither of those girls looked older than twenty and even though he himself wasn’t yet an elder, he certainly felt like one by just looking at their young, fresh faces. Not an age difference enthusiast, that he wasn’t. What would he even talk about with them? Puppies? Oh, on the other hand… 

Turns out: nothing about anything, not even puppies, had ever crossed their young minds since nothing was pretty much what they had to say to him. After an hour had passed, and the rest of the guests relaxed enough to stop giving Alfie nervous looks, he realized that his beautiful neighbors said maybe one sentence to him, each. After the meal, Alfie felt excused then when he left his seat to smoke in the kitchen.

He opened a window and put fresh tobacco in the pipe before he realized his matches were still in his coat. Against his better judgment, he started looking for any source of light in the kitchen drawers before someone said:

“Here.” A woman from the party, or so he assumed, extended a very elegant Dunhill automatic lighter towards him.

“Thank you.” He lit his pipe and then lit her cigarette for her. 

She gave him a small smile and turned her back to him, clearly not interested in talking. That, Alfie realized, was a pleasant change, so they smoked in silence until she was the one that decided to break it:

“How’s being an old spinster treating you, Mr. Solomons?” She spoke in English but she had a distinct Eastern European accent. Alfie found himself wondering where she might be from even before he realized what she had called him. 

“Yer mocking me?” He raised his eyebrows, not used to such behavior from anyone.

“Of course.” Very pleased with herself, she put her cigarette out. “This is why we’re both here. Our community takes care of us, the black sheep, is it not so?” She gave him a dismissive pat on the back. “Enjoy your place at the kids' table.”

Too surprised by this exchange and certainly not used to people being rude to his face, he was left alone in the kitchen while the woman went back to the party. He went home after that, quietly escaping with his hat and his coat in his hands like a lover caught red-handed by the husband. He would have thought nothing of that evening and mull his humiliation in peace, had it not been for the encounter that happened two weeks later. 

“Boss?” Ollie entered his office after having knocked for quite some time. Stuck too deep in his own head, Alfie realized, he must have not heard him.

“What is it, lad?” He took his glasses off and gave Ollie his best “fuck off” stare.

“There’s a woman here to see you, sir.” Ollie lowered his voice to a whisper, looking positively stupefied. 

Alfie blinked a couple of times, his expression changing from furious to  _ absolutely fucking livid _ . Ollie knew that face all too well and so the next sentence came out with even greater difficulty:

“She says you have a meeting. Sir.”

Upon hearing this, Alfie did the only reasonable thing his mind suggested:

“Alright, that’s that.” He stood up so hard that his chair nearly fell down and took out the gun he kept in the top drawer of the desk. “I understand much, alright, I’m a very understanding man but no fuckin’ witch is gonna disturb my business on a Monday when—”

He stopped in his tracks when instead of one of the three nosy hags in front of his office stood someone who absolutely shouldn’t be there. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” He switched the safety back on, suddenly as baffled as Ollie. 

Alfie Solomons was not the man to be messed with, and definitely not one that tolerated surprises. 

“Hm.” The woman in front of him, however, seemed neither fazed by the gun, nor by his swearing. What she did, though, which baffled Alfie even further, was extend a dusty linen bag towards him. “My employer sends these. She says we owe you some.”

Alfie stood there motionlessly, so Ollie was the one who finally took the bag from her.

“What’s in there, Ollie?” Alfie barked, still not taking his eyes away from the woman. “A severed head? A fuckin’ monkey?”

“It… it’s potatoes. Sir.”

“A what, mate?”

Ollie showed him the bag contents. The woman in front of them was not even trying to hide her amusement now. She was openly making fun of him, again, and he couldn’t even properly kill her for it, definitely not before finding out one crucial detail:

“How did you find me, eh? Don’t lie now. I’ve killed people for less.”

“You think you can scare me?” She cocked one eyebrow. “Do your worst, Mr. Solomons.”

Alfie didn’t like to be toyed with, he didn’t like people to underestimate him, either. He approached her in two swift strides and put the gun against her head. She didn’t even flinch but she did lose her balance so she grabbed his shirt firmly with both hands.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ shoot you, girlie,” he hissed. 

“Oh,” she said, still not breaking their eye contact. “I’ve had a good run, I think.” 

Not the reaction he expected from a woman. Not from anyone, for that matter. He looked at her angrily for another minute, and just… just  _ damn _ those big fucking blue eyes of hers, as blue as the sapphires he had seen in Montana. He couldn’t stop looking, not even after he put his gun away and she gave him another bold smile. She let go of him and somehow he wished she hadn’t.

“Who is your employer?” He asked, still feeling Ollie holding his breath behind him.

“Mrs. Bauer,” she answered matter-of-factly. “You don’t remember me? I should be offended.”

“And you found me how exactly, hm?” Still towering over her, he felt he could only do that because somehow she had let him. Fuckin’ Jewish women, he thought, there was no winning with them.

“Everybody knows what you do, Mr. Solomons,” she scoffed. “If we’re done playing cowboys and Indians I’ll be on my way, yes?”

“What?” He winced as if she had said something utterly disgusting.

“You think we don’t know that your Jews run Camden Town?” She laughed quietly but her laughter was one that had no joy to it. “Good day, Mr. Solomons.” And just like that, she was on her way. Dressed completely in black from her dress to her boots, in the dark corridors of the brewery she looked like a pale apparition.

“Ollie, next time just fuckin’ shoot any fuckin’ girl that wants to have any sort of meetings, alright?” Alfie said quietly when he heard her leave.

“Yes, sir.”

“Atta boy. An’ Ollie?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Yer fired.”

“Yes, sir.”

For some reason, Alfie knew he should not have let that woman walk all over him so easily, but there was just something in her that said: “You will not break me”. He had seen that kind of boldness only in street rats and “single women”, and that realization made him wonder about her even more. Before he could take any sort of action, however, she was the one who took matters in her own hands. Again. It started with Alfie working dutifully on his books and being interrupted with screaming and shouting in the weirdest Yiddish accent he had ever heard. It was coming from one of the corridors of the bakery but was loud enough for him to distinguish some very interesting profanities. Then, after a short dismissive knock, the door to Alfie’s office opened and through them came Mrs. Bauer’s housekeeper. This time, Alfie noticed, without any suspicious bags, thank goodness, but slightly flushed and out of breath.

“Sir, I couldn’t—! She’s fast!” Ollie moaned and pointed at her accusingly, running into the office right after her. “She wouldn’t listen!”

The woman scoffed and let go of the hems of her numerous black woolen skirts which she must have held in order to outrun Ollie. As Alfie calmly reached to his desk drawer since, apparently, this was their ritual now, she undid the knot on her  _ tichel  _ and let her thick, black hair fall on her back. That, Alfie was not proud to admit, made him stop whatever he was doing. A cascade of black curls framed her face and fell all the way down to the waist. Both men watched her now as from the headscarf she proceeded to shake banknotes, coins, and golden rings, all of which landed on Alfie’s desk. The men looked equally stunned, both by the riches and her revealed hair. 

“Leave,” Alfie barked to Ollie and the younger man immediately did as he was told. 

The door shut behind him and Alfie fixed his gaze back on the woman. She was visibly upset, her cheeks red and her breath uneven. That wasn’t a sight Alfie was prepared to deal with, and neither were the words that she uttered next:

“There is a man I want dead.”

That, he had to admit, strung all the wrong chords in his altogether rotten soul. He looked at the money and then back at her. English again. He wondered why. It must have been her that had spoken Yiddish to his boys earlier, so why was she speaking English with him? His thoughts must have wandered again because after having stood like this for a while, the woman let out a deep sigh and reached under her skirts. He watched her with eyebrows raised as she produced a golden pocket watch that was swiftly added to the pile. They stood in silence again until Alfie spoke first:

“Get the fuck out of my office.” His voice was calm but the sinister undertone of it made her question her presence in his bakery. Not for long, however, as she clearly had nothing to lose at this point and was determined to get him on her side:

“This is all I have,” she said.

“Clearly,” he barked. “Take it and get the fuck out before I throw ya out.”

She scoffed again and raised her chin.

“Don’t act all noble on my account. I know what you are and I don’t care. I need your help and I can pay.”

He slammed his hands on the desk and for the first time managed to startle her.

“Get the fuck out before this gets nasty, girlie” he hissed. “I don’t care what you think I do, I don’t care what sorta crazy ideas you be gettin’ in that crazy head of yours, alright? I ain’t here to do yer biddin’ and I ain’t gonna tolerate this kinda insolence in my own fuckin’ place of business, am I makin’ myself fuckin’ clear?” 

For a second something akin of panic showed in her face before the previous determination returned.

“You are part of the community and I am too. That’s all I think of you.” She put both hands on his desk just like he had and looked him straight in the eye. “That makes us family, Alfie Solomons, that makes us closer than brother and sister. We are both Jews on foreign territory and I need you.”

They stood so close now that for a split of a second something at the back of his mind told him to kiss her. He quickly dismissed that thought and instead of focusing on her lips, he focused on her words.

“What the fuck are ya on about? What, a scorned fella givin’ you trouble? Get the fuck outta here, I ain’t dealin’ with this!” He sat back down and waved his hand at her dismissively. “Go bother someone else, alright? Yer constant fuckin’ visits give me a headache, fuck’s sake…”

She sighed as if he were the one at fault here and considered what to do next for a while, before finally laying all her cards on the table:

“My name,” she said, now for the first time speaking Yiddish in his presence, “is Roma Ginsburgh. My father was rabbi Ginsburgh from Bialystok.” She grabbed the sides of his desk and somehow, with that otherworldly power of hers, she made Alfie look at her again. “My parents were slaughtered in Vilnius and my sisters murdered in Pinsk.” She pushed the money towards Alfie. “The general responsible for Pinsk arrived in London at eight o’clock this morning to receive his medals from Polish ambassadors. They’re calling him a national hero and want to decorate him. So. Do I have your attention now?”

Alfie watched her closely and it was quite obvious he believed every word. That accent was impossible to fake, he should know. His father had spent most of his life trying. Something changed in his face and she was quick to notice that his previous annoyance had completely faded.

“She’s hidin’ ya, isn’t she? The old Bauer woman.” 

“She is.” Now that her secret was out in the open, Roma seemed more relaxed, though perhaps it was Alfie’s imagination.

“But your name isn’t Jewish,” he said.

She sneered slightly. 

“Neither is yours.”

“Actually, it is. Yeah.”

Roma raised her chin to appear annoyed but her small smile revealed clear amusement.

“My parents met in Italy,” she said and now, curious enough about Alfie, she followed up with another question:

“Is it  _ Abraham _ ?”

“My name?” Alfie raised his eyebrows. “Oh, no.  _ Abraham  _ is a very decent name, don’t go makin’ fun of  _ Abraham.” _

“Are you gonna make me guess?” She huffed.

“Yer makin’ yourself guess, love.” He leaned back in his chair. “But I’m a nice man so I’ll indulge ya.”

“Give me a hint.”

Alfie gave her a sly grin.

“ _ Alfi…  _ and please note, right, I’m doin’ what I can with your crazy fuckin’ pronunciation, that’s what they called me when I was a kid.”

“You don’t mean…?” For the first time, Roma actually laughed and it made Alfie feel very… unusual.

“Oh, yeah. ‘S my mother’s side of the family. Fuckin’ oblivious to foreign languages but good people.”

“They…” She smiled widely and he noticed she had one gold tooth. Somehow it suited her and she seemed even prettier to him now. “Alright, so is it  _ Adolf  _ or…?”

“Nah, it’s worse.” Alfie knew he was basically giving her every right to openly make fun of him but this time it didn’t really sting. “ _ Alfons.  _ They fuckin’ named me  _ Alfons. _ ”

She laughed again and Alfie pretended to be offended. She had a nice laugh, though. Bright and light, the kind that made him want to make her laugh again and again.

“You poor man, your parents didn’t give you a chance!” She teased.

“I did alright, haven’t I?” He really tried to seem bothered by her comment but somehow he wasn’t.

He knew that “Alfons” was a term for “pimp” in Polish and her being born there, well… There was no coming back now, now she knew. They weren’t strangers now, he let that happen and he didn’t really mind. 

“So…” She frowned, suddenly not so sure of herself like she was before. “Are you going to help me?”

“No.” He shook his head and pushed her money back towards her. “But you’ve successfully interrupted my workday so there’s no point of me staying ‘ere now, is it?” He took his hat and his coat from the hanger. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

There was a slight pause but finally, Roma took her belongings and before they made their way out, the headscarf was back on her head, neat and properly tied. Alfie was honestly impressed. 

“Let’s walk.” He offered her his arm and cocked an eyebrow when she hesitated. “Don’t mean anything, don’t worry. We’re brother and sister, yeah?” Alfie smirked, clearly mocking her now. She snorted but took his arm and let him lead the way. 

Alfie noticed she’d gone quiet as soon as they found themselves among people but he wasn’t bothered. After all, he could talk for two and talk he did. She didn’t seem to mind and was very good at listening. His absurd stories managed to make her laugh again and for some reason, he felt very proud about that. Alfie wondered if she went quiet in fear of people hearing her speak Yiddish, so he made a point of talking only in Yiddish. This was Camden Town, after all, and he basically ran the bloody place, anyway. Besides, it’s not like anybody cared enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. They were still near the docks and here people had more important things to do. Finally, Alfie managed to put her at ease to the point where she would cheerfully correct his silly made-up words and inaccurate metaphors. He didn’t mind. He should but didn’t because talking to her was quick and fun and he was willing to forgive a couple of bruises on his ego if it meant he had a chance for an actual banter with someone who could keep up. 

Camden was not much of a place to take a walk, what with the smugglers at the docks, the noise of the trams, the filth, and the general poverty. Roma didn’t seem to mind but he did so they crossed the tracks near St. Martin’s Gardens and continued until they reached a small, unremarkable joint that could otherwise have been easily overlooked. Inside it was hot and steamy, there were only two or three small tables to sit at and the overwhelming, heavenly smell of fresh pastries made Roma’s stomach growl in desperate want. Alfie, with his wolf-like hearing, of course heard it and chuckled softly.

“Sit,” he said to her and proceeded towards the counter.

The owner of the place was an old friend. He hugged Alfie tightly like a long-lost brother and said something in a strange language that Roma had never heard before. When Alfie answered the man in the same sharp-toned language and they both laughed at the joke he apparently must have made, it made Roma wonder how many more of those weird, obscure foreign tongues Alfie could really speak. 

Alfie came to the table she had chosen with two steaming plates and a basket of rich rye bread. Roma recognized the dish immediately and he smiled, watching her eyes light up.

“ _ Gołąbki!”  _ She immediately dipped a piece of bread in the tomato sauce and closed her eyes, savoring the familiar taste. 

“ _ Holishkes, _ ” he snorted, “correcting” her to his own term for the very same dish.

She made a face at him and rolled her eyes. No further words were exchanged, however, as Roma was too busy delighting in the taste of home and childhood. 

“Good?” Alfie asked as she broke the last piece of bread in half and cleaned the rest of the sauce from her plate, then from his. “Dear God, woman,” he chuckled. “The old crow doesn’t feed you or somethin’?”

“She feeds me. But not like this.” Roma leaned back in the chair in a very comfortable manner and looked towards the numerous old photographs that decorated the place. “How did you know?” She asked him in a seemingly usual conversational voice. Alfie being Alfie knew, however, that she was checking for the signs of quid pro quo he was commonly known for. He appreciated the alertness but at the same time wanted to assure her there were no strings attached to his uncharacteristic generosity. He didn’t know how, though, so finally he got up to leave first and they parted ways near the tram tracks and that was that, or at least that’s what Alfie told himself for the rest of the day. He was not the kind to dwell on things, neither was he the one to do anybody any favors if he hadn’t seen a personal gain in the whole bloody ordeal, how-fucking-ever… even if there was a general that had met an untimely death on the midnight train from London to Warsaw, how was Alfie supposed to have any bloody idea how that had happened?

If he had anything to do with it, though, Alfie would like it to be known that he wasn’t going for any sort of romantic gesture here, no sir, he ain’t that kind of guy. He would also point out, hypothetically of course, that he wasn’t entirely displeased when the next morning Roma was waiting for him at the entrance to his bakery. She must have waited for some time, judging by the small pile of cigarettes at her feet. When she spotted him, she pulled her black chunky cardigan tighter around her arms and gave Alfie a quirky sort of smile that he felt compelled to return.

“Mornin’,” he said cheerfully. “Looking for me, luv?”

“I…” She stopped mid-word and furrowed her brow, not really sure now what to say next.

“That’s alright, I tend to be quite breathtakin’ in the mornings. Come in.” He took the keys from his pocket and opened the door before her. 

Seeing her confused expression, he tipped his hat mockingly, clearly very pleased with himself. Roma snorted and cautiously went after him. She opened her mouth, having decided to at least utter any kind of “thank you” but then Alfie closed the distance between them and kissed her slowly and deeply. Blood rushed to her head and she grabbed his arms for balance. She’s been kissed before but it was all clumsy and gentle and this felt so real and raw that for a minute she wondered if maybe she’d imagined it. Roma realized just how real this was when they finally parted and she saw just how out of breath Alfie was. Her eyes lingered on his mouth for a bit, not really daring to look him in the eye.

“Fuckin’ hell, if I knew that’s what it takes to make you all nice and amiable, I would’ve kissed ya sooner, darlin’,” he said softly, brushing her cheek with his rough fingers.

“And what makes you think I’m going to be nice to you?” She tried to stay serious but couldn’t, not while he looked at her like that; like she was this precious little thing that he wanted to take care of.

“Ah, I still have some tricks up my sleeve.”

“Do you really?”

“Really.” Alfie pulled her closer and placed another quick kiss on her lips. “I know a place that serves real  _ borscht _ .”

Roma couldn’t help but laugh a little since that’s not at all what she expected him to say.

“You’re going to bribe me with food to like you? That’s how you befriend a dog, Alfie.”

“Yeah, well.” He pretended to be embarrassed. She knew because his eyes still glinted playfully when he looked at her. “It worked for me before. Have I ever told you about the time I had to go back to Leningrad to steal a puppy from a duchess?”

“Go back?” 

“Oh yeah. I’ll tell you over coffee, come on. I make good coffee, sweetheart, that’s only one of my many talents.”

  
  
  



End file.
